Churchill’s mutt

Not so much ‘one of those days’, rather one of those weeks. It started last weekend when I checked the date for the Rich Hall gig, which I ‘knew’ was coming up soon, only to find it was two weeks previous. Bug-ger! And a couple of papers have come out; you know, the kind that can induce near panic, because: 1) your ground is already covered and you’re woefully off the pace; and 2) you’re of the opinion again that what you do is utterly futile. Combine that with a severe attack of cell culture cholic, and the mounting irritation that is the unfathomable door/window-open/shut policy operated by Seth Brundle became final straw-like, and I decided to get out before blowing.

So I’ve spent much of this week ‘working at home’, which means indulging in a serious bout of introspection, listening to Beethoven (he knew), which turns to guilt as I realise I’m idling when I have much to do. This is not how it’s supposed to be – it’s supposed to be fun!

And to cap it all, I end up with a haircut, seemingly by that armless German guy who has just been handed new limbs. The problem with done haircuts is you can’t reject them (unless you have another haircut); let’s hope he, or the arms, don’t react so. And I wonder about other things. Like are those wide boys who, were it not for us taxpayers, would have, in effect, pretty much bankrupted the country, still gonna come out of it over-rewarded? And how is it that I can’t understand what that Palin person (sorry, Anna) is saying – verbal anguilliformism. And why can’t I work out the subtle irony (not the obvious, I get that) that is (must be) John Lydon billboard-advertising butter?

Ignorance truly is bliss.


Playlist:

  • Beethoven’s Adagios
  • Pink Floyd: Meddle

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